


Someday

by xDinahQueenx



Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xDinahQueenx/pseuds/xDinahQueenx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>But as far as epic fuck up, biblical proportion mistakes being made </em>that<em> was what his mind drifted to.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't remember why I wrote this, but when I re-read it and saw it was finished I was like "why not"?

It’s not exactly an uncommon occurrence; but it’s becoming a problem. This is something that Alex knows and, for the record, is fine with. He’ll ignore the weird looks Dusty gives him when they head out of the locker room. And the knowing way Eric’s brows raise. Or the questioning puppy dog look Aaron gives him that somewhat makes him want to-- in equal degrees-- pat him on the head or kick him away. Condensation of the beer bottle makes it slick in his hand and sitting in the grass with crickets chirping doesn’t really ease the weird feeling in his chest.   
  
He drinks.   
  
To remember. To forget. To feel or not feel? He doesn’t know.   
  
San Francisco and the super bowl they (  _Kaepernick_ ) had lost was getting small in the rearview, shrinking with distance. But it wasn’t that that his thoughts went to. And for all his faults-- and he had-- well, he had  _a few_ \-- he could think of a lot of them. But as far as epic fuck up, biblical proportion mistakes being made  _that_ was what his mind drifted to.   
  
And he isn’t sure, exactly, if it’s the fact he’s got a wife and kids. Or that  _he_ had a wife and kids. Or that it’d just been a massively bad idea on a scale of using frog DNA to fill in the gaps in the dino DNA in Jurassic Park.   
  
Bad, bad,  _bad_ .   
  
He drinks more. Tries to forget slate blue eyes and short dark hair under his fingertips. Stubbled cheek against his own and strong strong hands and fingers, a little rough, blunt nails and fingertips clutching in to his skin.   
  
He’d watched the man kiss his wife on television, draped with the champion banner and holding the Lombardi trophy.   
  
Then Alex had found him later, still celebrating with his team at a dingy, smoky bar in New Orleans. Alex had walked through a cloud of smoke he was  _sure_ wasn’t cigarette and had seen him at the bar, nursing a beer and his head leaned in towards his tight end-- 88, Alex didn’t know the name-- and laughing at something. Then their eyes had met and it had been--  
  
It’d been something.   
  
_”Smith we_ lost _,” Kaepernick had whined the words almost right in his ear and he could remember_ that _vivid too. Kaepernick smelling like his musky, earthy soap and the younger quarterback almost right against him, strong hands on his biceps holding on like Alex was his lifeline. He’d said “I know, go drown yourself in a beer, Kaep.”_  
  
But Alex, well, he’d been transfixed by something else.   
  
He still can’t get it out of his head. Even wheeling on two years down the road, he considers it. And he drinks the same brand of beer because then he can almost, just  _almost feel_ \--  
  
_He’d kissed like he was starving for affection; dark and intense and all with roving hands grabbing at his clothes. Alex had framed his face in his hands, “slow down” but he hadn’t really meant it. Because his tongue was slick and hot and he was so_ big _and so_ strong _and he made Alex feel like he was being overwhelmed and overcome and maybe it was the anger of everything that had happened with the Niners but he was--_  
  
Jarred from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder.   
  
It’s Dusty and he plops down next to him and glances at the beer he’s drinking and then lightly pries it from his hands. Dusty’s got soft hands, gentle and thoughtful.   
  
”You shouldn’t drink before a game,” Dusty chastises him, but it’s more querying than reproving. Alex wishes he could explain. Maybe, just  _maybe_ talking about it would get it off of his mind. Maybe holding on to his secret was what was keeping him from moving away from it.   
  
”I know,” Alex says, then pauses, “The game is  _tomorrow_ , this doesn’t technically count. I’m not going to show up to the locker room plastered or hungover or anything.”   
  
Dusty’s hum is non-committal and not much of an answer and Alex sighs again.   
  
He doesn’t make a move to grab the beer again, though.   
  
”You seem-- distant?” Dusty’s words lilt up like a question and Alex breathes in through his nose. He tries to keep the shudder in but he feels the tremor in his shoulders anyways. Dusty’s close enough he feels it and shoots him a concerned look.   
  
”I had a...” Alex starts, then stops, and tries to find the right words to say. “Lets go with, lapse in judgment. After the Super Bowl.”   
  
Dusty’s brow furrows. Alex clears his throat.   
  
”Not uh... this year, but... last... when I was with the Niners.”   
  
Alex licks his mouth and folds his hands and sets them in his lap. “Snap decision, wasn’t really thinking, I was a little--”  _more than a little, just this side of three sheets to the wind and maybe if he’d been_ less _drunk, he wouldn’t have given in like he did. But Alex had felt helpless (in such a good, good way) when his hands had gone to his hips and pushed him back against the wall. He couldn’t dance, but Alex didn’t mind the way he ground up on him in a dark, secluded part of the club_ .   
  
”You were a little?” Dusty finally prompts and Alex realizes he’d drifted in to the memory. In to--  
  
”Fuck.” Alex mumbles. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and wonders if he can admit it aloud. “I just...” He starts. Stops. Thinks.   
  
He does grab the beer this time and swallows the rest of it down in a gulp.   
  
It still reminds Alex of the taste on his lips.  
  
”What did you do, Alex?” Dusty asks.   
  
Alex wishes he had another beer.   
  
”I slept with him.”   
  
Dusty stares harder. “Who?”   
  
Alex swallows.   
  
”Flacco.” He finally says.   
  
He’s pretty sure that the wrinkle that’s formed between Dusty’s brow is going to be a permanent blemish with the way it deepens as he processes what Alex just said.   
  
The moment of silence almost feels awkward except he can’t read what Dusty is thinking which-- he looks like he might be trying not to laugh, or  _cry_ and Alex has an overwhelming urge to maybe slap him. Considering he’d just confessed something so personal and hard to say, Dusty should be a little bit more transparent.   
  
”Flacco.” Dusty repeats and there’s an edge of something there when he says it, just a subtle little twist on inflection.   
  
Alex feels the urge to cross his arms over his chest defensively but manages to resist it.   
  
”Yeah,” Alex says, “After the game, me and Colin wound up in the same shitty bar the Ravens were celebrating in.”   
  
”So you were drunk?” Dusty asks.   
  
Alex hesitates and then shrugs.   
  
”A bit, I guess.”   
  
”Was he?”   
  
”I assume so.”   
  
There’s another pause and Dusty’s expression is still completely unreadable and then it softens and Alex isn’t sure he likes that any better than whatever the hell it just had been.   
  
”You were thinking about it?” Dusty’s tone is gentle and Alex shakes his head, negatively, and reaches for the bottle again but it’s empty. He thinks about throwing it and doesn’t. Instead, he peels idly at the label, picking at the sticker like nervous habit.   
  
”I can’t--” Alex starts. Stops. Thinks about what words to put together to maybe make it sound  _less_ pathetic. But Alex had been-- he didn’t know. Completely captivated and consumed. Flacco had been very enthusiastic and very overwhelming--  _hands everywhere and Alex couldn’t breathe as his hands had slipped up under his shirt and on to bare skin. Or maybe he’d stopped breathing when Joe had ducked his head down and trailed his lips down the column of his throat and over his shoulder. “You should take my shirt off,” Alex remembered rasping to him in the dark. Joe’s laugh had been almost right in his ear. “I should get you alone first._ ”   
  
Dusty’s still staring, so Alex shakes it off.   
  
”I think about it... sometimes.” Alex admits after a moment. “He was...” Alex trails off with a shrug.  _Good_ . He doesn’t end the sentence with.  _Perfect. Amazing. Addicting_ .   
  
”You could always call him?” Dusty suggests and Alex shakes his head a little, automatic.   
  
”No, I really can’t,” Alex says, “I mean... you ride high on emotions. You think about it and it’s all some sort of struggling high. Either the victory or the defeat and you drink-- to celebrate or block it out. He won’t... you know, he wouldn’t want to hear from me, Dusty. And I don’t want anything from him. But it’d been...”   
  
Alex struggles to find the words. Good really doesn’t do it justice. He couldn’t describe to Dusty, though he remembered in vivid detail. There’d been finger shaped bruises in his hips, dark marks red where Joe’s teeth and mouth had bruised his skin. There’d been the stretch, the feel in the aftermath of being open and sated, sweat slicked and collapsing back against the bed with Joe’s weight on top of him.  _“Want to stay the night?” Alex remembered asking, mouth at Joe’s ear and kissing him there. Felt Joe’s rumble of quiet, contented laughter. “Sure.” And Joe had rolled up on his side to face Alex and kissed him again, slow and careful and almost searching. Alex couldn’t say why he’d kissed him like_ that _just that it made him ache in an unfamiliar kind of way_ .   
  
Alex looked away from Dusty.   
  
”Good?” Dusty asked. Alex’s shrug is non-committal.   
  
”I guess,” Alex says. Dusty’s hand falls heavy on his shoulder.   
  
”He probably wouldn’t mind hearing from you.” Dusty’s trying to be encouraging and Alex can tell. And truthfully, he does appreciate it. That was the good thing about Dusty, he often was, and he didn’t judge and Alex is grateful. He couldn’t imagine how the boys in San Francisco would have reacted.   
  
Alex shrugs again, same non-committal fashion.   
  
”It’s in the past now,” Alex says, “You don’t call up a one-night stand two years later unless you have their kid.”   
  
Alex plays it off like a joke and Dusty, well is Dusty, and plays along.   
  
”Do we need to call Hudson’s paternity in to question? Go on Maury Povich?” Dusty grins at him, crooked and mischievous and Alex shakes his head.   
  
”Thanks, Dusty,” Alex says. Dusty shrugs this time.   
  
”Don’t mention it.”   
  
”Want to go back inside?” Dusty asks.   
  
Alex nods and levers himself to his feet.   
  
Dusty goes in ahead and Alex stays out to look up at the sky and then to press his fingers to his lips.   
  
_”Call me some time,” Joe’s voice had been quiet, but he’d slipped the slip of paper with his number on it in to Alex’s hand. Alex was dizzy with a hangover, but not regretful. Joe seemed like he wasn’t either, especially considering Joe had kissed him again. Alex had nodded and slipped the paper in to his wallet. “Sure.” Alex had said. Joe smiled at him then, broad and genuine and gorgeous. Alex wanted to reach up and touch his smile but he hadn’t._  
  
The number was still in his wallet; but he’s never able to get the courage to make the call.   
  
He has the number saved in his phone. So maybe one day.   
  
Alex slips his phone back in his pocket and steps back inside.   
  
_Someday_ . 

 

 


End file.
